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Copyright, 1899, 
By E. S. CHAPIN. 

All rigfhts reserved. 



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^~ — ^ ^ "Songs Without Words," 22. 

Slowly at eventide pulses the sea 

Like a heart that is weary — weary with futile endeavor; 

Samson in manacles, blinded and impotent, 

Nursing his vengeful wrath in the house of the aliens. 

But his fury shall rise again, strong and free, 

Blind and fierce, crashing the walls asunder — 

Sparing not, pitying not, 

Falling himself with the slain. — — — 

Seek thou the peace that endureth forever, 

vStrong and free with the freedom of meekness. 

Send thy waves to the help of tlie weary 

The overborne, the weak and defenceless. 

Stifle thy wrath lest it master thee, 

And thy peace then shall flow like a river. 



Anger wishes that makind had only one neck ; love that 
it had only one heart ; grief, two tear glands ; pride two 
bent knees. ^ean Paul. 



THE VICTORY OF SINTRAM. 

The castle hall of Diontheini was the scene of Christmas feast, 
Aiul while the hours ebbed apace, the tide of mirth increased ; 

Upon the rocU-hevvn table lay the head of gilded boar, 

And rash and cruel were the vows the knights upon it swore. 

But the bell of midnight clanged aloft, and. hunted from his bed 
Bv the greedy spirit-hounds, the prince of Drontheim fled. 

Along the vaulted arches far his cries of horror sound, 

And he rushes in aflVight where the wassail bowl goes round. 

Oh sad and fearful his lament! Oh dread his heart-wrung cry! 

They chill the heart of every knight and warrior anigh. 
" Thev will rend me! The\' will rive me! They will give me to 
the flame ! 

They will fling me into tortures, into plights I dare not name I" 

A deathlike silence followed, but Biorn the Fiery-eyed 

I'or maledictions new and fierce his startled memory plied ; 

'' O hush thee sinful Baron ! beware ! it nears the end, — " 
And kindlvwise to Sintram turneth Rolf, his ready friend. 

Strange words, and stranger calmness fall on the stricken soul. — 
Words from the strange old story of one whom faith made whole, — 

"■ I believe, and \et I cannot! I believe not, yet I would ! — " 
Fell in solemn cadence from the lips of Rolf, the Good. 

Then the goading spectres from the troubled child depart. 
And into quiet slumber sinks his weary trembling heart. 

And forever in his weakness when the hellish crew appear, 
Shall his safety lie in trusting, shall his danger lie in fear. 
2 



For the curse is still upon hiin, and until his manhood's prii^ie. 

Shall his soul be bent and harried, till he lift his front sublime ; 
Till the vulture of his nature don the pluma<;je of the dove, 

And he bends in pure oljeisance at his mother's word of love. 

Well lor him Verena waited in the cloister calm and dim 

While her stron<i^ aHection burned in prayer, as tapers lit for him ! 

Well for us, in life's fierce stru^jgle, that the guardian host unseen 
With vigilance unceasin"f over heaven's l)asti(nis lean! 



FORGIVENESS. 

I walked athwart the grassy glade 
What time the dew begemmed each tiny blade. 

And every little spear was laid in rest. 
And ruin threatened what my loot had pressed. 

''Alas!" said I, "What damage have 1 wrought 
In crushing down the life that luuiried me not." 

But the sweet sunrise of another day 
Found it as fresh as e'er 1 passeil that way. 

I came, a shadow blotting out the day. 
Among some children happy with their play, 

And Grief came swittly following in my track 
And Joy had fled, 1 could not win her back. 

''Alas!" wept I, "They ne\er will forget, 
But with reproach their eyes will aye be wet." 

i-Vnd lo ! they greet me still with loving smiles, 
Antl ease my sorrows with theii' merry wiles. 

3 



WINQ5. 

Soul of every mortal creature, 

Why this fever of unrest? 
Why, amid life's satisfactions 

Seek'st those better still, and best? 

Wherefore from the peaks of Ossa 
Stretcheth Pelion's sterner height? 

Why the web thou weavest, coarser 
Than it seemed but yester night? 

Had'st thou but the dove's strong pinions. 
Then thy soul with care opprest 

Toward the bosom of the morning 
Swift would fly to be at rest. 

But the dawn would turn to noon-tide, 

And the noon to quiet eve, 
And thy baffled heart would falter, 

Weary, to the earth would cleave. 

There, perhaps, some holy shelter 

Where thy aspiration keen 
In the quiet of devotion. 

Rest and strength for flight may glean. 

In the temple, in the closet. 

Rest thy wings, thou weary dove. 

Then fly forth the world to conquer 
Strong in faith, in hope, in love. 



IN MY HAnnocK. 

Swing low, my airy summer chariot, 

Over the green fields fly, 
While the soft passes of a^olian mildness 

Caress me as I lie. 

Through the green arches of earth's cloisters 

On to the distant blue — 
Speed on, my chariot, till my weary spirit 

Pauses and passes through. 

There the vast reaches of etherial splendor, 

Seas of eternal calm. 
Wait the earth-wanderer, sorely laden, 

To sooth him with their balm. 

There, earth's fretting discords blending 

With the tidal waves of love. 
Make a diapason, swelling 

Harmonies that float above. 

Pause, my chariot, let me gather 

Heartsease for the future days, 
Hope from the auroral regions, 

Light to brighten darksome ways. 

Is not short pain well borne that brings long ease? 

Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, 

Ease after war, death after life, doth greatly please. 

— Spencer's Fairy ^neeti. 



A NOONTIDE REVERY. 

High noon it was, but still and giay 
The sky o'er sea and meadow lay ; 
The silence of that summer day 
Stole inward 'till I heard it say, — 
"• For God so loved the world." 

A rose, pure-hearted, from her lips distilled 
Sweet breathings which my senses filled ; 
His wreathed spear Gladiolus upheld 
And every bird his message trilled, — 
" For God so loved the world." 

So loved it that He gave (as we 
By giving show affection free) 
Flowers, music, children, — blessed three, 
A lovely earthly trinity, — 

"For God so loved the world." 

What know I yet of that surpassing grace 
Whose tenderness in every flower I trace.'' 
I read its alphabet in one dear face 
But how humanity embrace.'' 

"• For God so loved the world." 

Pain could not measure love so great 
Nor spear nor thorn could penetrate. 
Love made thy dying so elate, 
And opened wide the eternal gate 
"For God so loved the world." 



Surely He loved Thee, Princely Son,— 
Yet freely gave His Only One. 
His ioy and Thine were but begun 
In Thy last whisper ^'It is done," — 
'' For God so loved- the world." 

If I for Him some cherished wish resigned, 
Some dearly loved one to the altar bind, 
His joy, but not His love I'd find. 
That mysterv. long-suffering, yet kind, 
•'For God so loved the worhl." 



nUSlC VISIBLE. 

If e'er the glorious infinite be mine 
ril learn the secret to create a flower. 

No more ctnitented with the meagre power 
To image crudely such a work divine, 

I'll deftly hinge each petal of the rose, 
The glowing cup with attar over-fill, 

Ami add to this fair creature of my will 
But one sweet grace— a life that ever flows. 

Or, if the flower be the written score 
Of distant harmonies, and heavenly mirth, 

I'll learn the intonations of that Voice 
Which ranged the gamut of creative power. 

Then called with song the flowers from the earth, 
Voicing His joy, and bidding earth - Rejoice." 



SYMPATHY OF SPRING. 

''' Proserpina — nut violas aut Candida lilia carpit." 

A severed love hangs veils before our eves, 

A gloom that tinges all we see. 
For other eyes the sun dispenses joy 

And hopefulness of things to be ; 
But not to those from whose sad heart and home. 

The light and joy of life has fled, 
A life that all things touched and turned to gold, 

And cheered with wine life's daily bread 

The brooding winds sob ever mournfully. 

And, poised upon the rain-full air. 
The clouds withhold in self-restraint their tears 

From furrows turned with toil and care. 
Spirits of Spring! that melts the heart of earth 

Ungirds the torrents of the hills. 
Kisses to life the new-born birds and flowers, 

And smiles and sings in sunny rills, — 

Why does thy vivifying hand first touch 

The willows with thy magic grace, 
Uncoil their supple strands of greenness fair 

As if to veil thy tender face? 
Or stirring with the sobbing, tearful breeze 

Its drooping branches writhe and strain 
Like the loose tresses of a grief-bowed head 

That tosses, restless with its pain? 

O thou who call'st the flowers from their graves 
To bloom in beauty lare and new, 



Why sift through amethystine prisms 

The hght that gives the violet's hue? 
And why through patiiways of the prisou-moKl 

In garb of stainless freshness bring 
Star-like anemone, Lily of the Vale, 
And Snowdrop, harbinger of spring? 
O grieving heart! be full of cheer! 

Lift up thy tear-strained eyes, 
Let the full light of morning clear 

Fall on thee from the skies. 
"Blessed are thev that mourn," we read, 

"They shall sure comfort liiul," 
The sweetest care for those in need. 

The thoughts from God's own mind. 
Blossoms of amethysts and peails 

O'erhang Heaven's gateway bright, 
And earth in sympathy unfurls 

Her purple blooms and white. 
The violet whispers, "All is well 

Because I live, shall ye ! " 
A messenger of heaven to tell 

Of immortalitv. 
Beauty for ashes! for the heavy-hearted piaise, 

The solitary, desert places glad ; 
And when the morning sends its rays 

The day is no more sad. 
Each morn, a lesurrection-morn ; 

Each uight, repose of day ; 
Through Him who human grief has boine 

The Life, the Truth, the Way. 



TO HORACE'S CHLOE. 



1 see thee, favvn-e\ed Chloe, sitting' 

Bv thy Roman mother's side, 
While the tell-tale blushes flitting 

Show thy young heait's hounding tide. 
Never yet from that safe shelter 

Has thy artless fancy stra\ed ; 
But the time is coming, Chloe, 

As it comes to every maid. 



Pure indeed are thv soft glances 

As the earliest flowers of spring. 
But they pierce the heart like lances 

With a self-accusing sting. 
Dost thou read the eyes that seek thee, 

Trembling at the tale they tell? 
But the time is coming, Chloe, 

Thou shalt love their lanirua<'e well. 



Ket-n the tender exes that sue thee, 

Keen to censure, as to praise. 
His shall be the bliss to woo thee 

In a long, heart-\ ielding gaze. 
TIdnk not, maitlen, he would rend thee 

As a wolf would rend the hind ; 
Vov the time has come, sweet Chloe, 

With a mate thy life to bind. 
lO 



AT NIGHT. 

Come out with thy sweet Mothev 

And sob thv sorrow away, 
And (hink of the cahiiing potion 

She others at close of day. 

Well she knows the ''home-pain" 

That i)vesses at chisky eve, 
And lights hev bii;j,htest candles 

'I'o Lheer the hearts that grieve. 

She spreads her book of pictures 

Upon her ample knee, 
And tells the starry s\ nibols 

Blazoned in light for thee, — 

Heroes and gods and dragons 
Drawn fioni the m\thic lore — 

The gloiv of Got!, down-shining 
Thiough pin holes in His floor. 

Soothed is thv mundane sorrow, 
Lapped in the embracing blue, 

"As one whom his Mother comforts 
So wiJl I comfort you.'" 

<:^ 

No one is so much alone in the universe as the denied of 
God. With an orphaned heart which has lost the greatest 
of fathers, he stands mourning by the immeasurable corpse 
•of nature, no longer moved or sustained by the Spirit of 
the universe, but growing in its grave. J(^<-''" i'aul. 

I £ 



BEAUTY FOR ASHES. 

riie mooi), slow-pacing through the ambient night, 
Watches her happy rival, while she sleeps. 
Tiie pale hand-maiden for her vigil keeps 
A silver radiance iVom tiie halls of light. 

How sad a record of a hopeless doom 
Shows in that marred and passion-wasted face ! 
Qiienched are the hres, consumed each vital trace, 
Her jov a memory, and her heart a to:nb ! 

Not so the happy earth upspringing to the sun's embrace ! 
Deep in hier veins the fires glow, but the light is on her face. 
I^ritle of the day, she lingers not within the halls of night. 
But singing on her journey goes, enamoured of the light. 
Ancl the spirits of immortals freed, when their day is done 
liise like the shining vapors on the ladders of the sun. 

BLIND, 

Eyes for the light I Light for the eyes ! 

The Voice that framed creation cries. 

A chalice to lift where the fountain flows, 
A mirroi" to image the tint of the rose. 

"•The eye for light! Light for the eye!" — 
Divinely-ordered affinity. 

It is not good for either alone, 

The voice of the Blessed made them one. 

Eves for the light, light for the eyes, — 
From the deeps of the sea to the dome of the skies : 
Save in dank caverns under ground 
Where eveless things and no light are fountl. 

Mv eves were married once to the light. 
But I walk in the widowhood now of night. 

But the sweet features of the Day 

Are painted on my brain alway. 

12 



Time and the Circle. 

I scan the circle <)f the horizon's rim 

And note the curling tide of life that flows 
Through egg and seed to bird and perfect rose, 

To eg^^ and seed again — a circle dim. 

Speeding their hoops of light, the frolic Hours 
Tread the same meadows through returning noons. 
While Earth slips through her circuit of the moons 

And marks her stages by recurring flowers. 

O Time, thou product of Titanic skill. 

Tell us the meaning, flash thy sudden light 

On all who hold thee but a worthless thing! 

Thou art the pledge of all the heavens fulfil 

To us who delve within the caves of night; — 

Thou art the Jewel,— Eternity the ring. 

"After Us, the Deluge." 

Strange prophet, standing on the tottering heap 
Of reigns iniquitous, and broken faiths. 
Could see with bleared eye the coming doom 
Which yet was hidden from more virtuous ken, — 
A tossing flood .of crimson human blood 
Submerging empires and undoing states; 
Thought not of remedy, only to postpone 
To heads less guilty his supreme desert, 
Adding his fuel to enkindle hate. 
''The Deluge, after us,"— what breast unmoved 
Can bear this basest issue of besotted lips? 
No prismic Bow reminds this Louis of the pledge. 
For lives inviolate, and of wrongs redressed,— 
The aftermath of Chaos, smiling fair 
Through tears, upon a world new-clad with hope — 
Sprung from the whelming sea that quenched her woes. 
^ Genesis 9 : 2-7. 



IDEALS. 

Guardians of life, — strong Faith, strong Love, 

Ye paused one smiling morn 
To guard my tent upon the plains, 

When Hope was born. 

Fit groves for dalliance were there, 

And an enchanted spring, 
And my full heart in its content 

Could nothing do but sing. 

Next morn I struck my tent to pace 

The desert's burning floor. 
And the sweet verities of palm and spring 

Became mirage — no more. 

"What matters it?" the old Earth cries, 

" See, every budding spring 
How o'er the scars u|)on my breast 

A vernal gauze I fling." 

Full well, O Earth, I know my heart 

Doth not accord with thee : 
And from my charmed, tho' tear- wet eyes 

The mirage will not flee. 

And often in my dreams at night 

The oasis stretches free ; 
For Love and Faith, still lead me on 

And Hope is yet with me. 



"Songs Without Words," 2S. 

Adovvn the lea, adowii tlie lea 
My he:iit's true love for me ahideth, 

And naught I fear, for far or near 
My heart in love confideth. 

A wayside shrine for me 

Her cot shall be, 
When o'er the darkling lea I wandei", 

A whitening bloom to me 

The gloom shall l)e, 
All light, all love, all joy, and wonder. 

But happier dawn, thrice happy morn, 
While buds and l)irds gush out a greeting, 

To steal away to thee, 

To fling a rose to thee, 
The sweetest emblem of our meeting. 

And then thou wilt come to me, 

I will till then my eyes with thee. 

My dawn, my day, my star, mv sun, — 
My gloiv ! — Love, with thee. 



One of the best methods of rendering study agreeable is 
to live with able men and to suffer all the pangs of inferiority 
which the want of knowledge always inflicts. Sidney Smith. 

15 



WHO KNOWS? 

Do faiiies feed on lilies and dew? Who knows? 
And elves with dreams our pillows strew, 
And kobolds work in a grimy crew, 
And trouble the miners, and good-folk too? 

Who knows? 

Do goblins spin the grain into gold? Who knows? 
And dance at midnight on the wold, 
And churn the cream to a yellow mold, 
And puzzle the maitls with their antics bold? 

Who knows? 

Who pricked a measure in the glade? Who knows? 
In a faer}- ring in the mossy shade? 
And a changeling in the cradle laid, 
Whose tears weie all nito jewels made? 

Who knows? 

A skipper launched his l)<)at one night 
And sailed away in a track of ligiit 

Till he saw the moon, and it seemed to be 

A boat of gold on a wide blue sea. 

" Ship ahoy ! " he shouted, loud and free ; 

" Go 'board her ! " he said to his mariners three : 
So they twisted some moonbeams into a stranti. 
And went straight up, hand over hand. 

He gazed, and gazed, and at length he spied, 
Three spots like flies on the good ship's si(.le ; 
And then he thought it would be grand 
To capture, and tow her back to land. 

i6 



So he spliced his line to the cable bright, 
And pulled at his oars till his head grew light. 
When he opened his eyes, he was in his bed, — 
He had sailed that voyage "out of his head." 

He told me some of his ventures rare, 

Of the prize-ship that melted into air. 

Saint Elmo's Fire that stuck to the mast. 
Till a pirate was hung to the yard at last. 

Do I think his tale was true? Who knows.? 
It is true to you, little " Eyes-so-Blue" — 
So cuddle down to your night's repose, 
And a fairy shall sing to you, named " Suppose ; " 

She knows. 

Shakspeare's Desk at Stratford. 

O Berserk dreams of boyhood ! Pirates ye, 
Whose galleys cleave imaginary seas. 
Unfurl their mystic pennons to the breeze, 

And gather Paynim splendor for their fee ! 

E'en such an argosy our Shakspeare bore 
To Prospero's isle, and Cleopatra's realm 
While Ariel, bright spirit, pressed the helm 

Far from the droning hum of schoolboy lore — 

And the quaint carvings, hieroglyphs of fame. 
Traced by the schoolboy in an idle hour. 

Tell of swift voyages o'er fancy's main, — 
Precursors of the master's coming power, 

Which swept all seas, beggared the classic store 

And reared Parnassus on the English shore. 

17 



WHITE SHIP. 

White Ship, and starry sky, 

And the heaving midnight main. 
And the mariner watching alone on high 

Shall he see the firm earth again? 

White Ship 'mid a sunny sea 

Like the Virgin's garment, blue, — 

Shall the strong hopes that beat in thee 
Prosper, or change to rue ? 

White Ship, and the tempest's gloom 

Making each visage gray, — 
" Dies irae ! Day of Doom " 

Is writ in the lightning's ray. 

But greater than sea or sky 

The value of one soul ; 
And the good ship's freight to One on high 

Is more than the cosmic whole. 

"The head is safe so long as the knees arc supple." 

It is better that joy should be spread out over the whole 
day in the form of strength than to be concentrated into 
ecstasies full of dangers, and liable to reaction, Emerson. 

<:^ 

The vulgarest man while he suffers, prays, or trusts in 
Heaven would express himself like Homer, Tasso or Milton 
if education had clothed his thought in words. There are 
but two classes of men born — those who feel enthusiasm 
and those who deride it. Madame de Stael. 

i8 



"TILL HE COME." 

In the grey mist a Presence passed 

Intangible, but true, 
Unerringly I knew Him 

And near my spirit drew. 

In the dusk of sleep, such Purity 

Made the dim places plain 
With hand on mouth, and mouth in the dust 

My soul has humbly lain. 

And once a departing spirit 

Flashed a look of love to Thee, — 

And I sat by, and understood 
jSIore than my eyes could see. 

In each day's tender gloaming 

Is heard life's undertone ; 
The dominant of the daytime 

Vibrates to a key of its own. 

Am I grasping at a shadow? 

A shadow myself I shall be, — 
A blessed shade in Elysium 
When He has come for me. 
<^ 
' Vain others ' overthrows, who self doth overthrow. 

Spencer's Faerie ^ueen. 
<^, 

It chaunst, — Eternal God that chaunce did guide. 

Faerie ^ueen. 

19 



LULLABY. 

Hush, my baby, fear no danger, 
God on high hath vowed to keep ; 

Angels guard thy quiet chamber, 
Angels kiss thee in thy sleep. 

Mother loves thee, she will watch thee, 

She will hear thy slightest call, 
Even as God who sits in Heaven 

Waits and watches over all. 

See what tender care hath fashioned 

Every feature, every part, — 
He who formed the wondrous creature 

Bears him daily on His heart. 

Mother's love and care are fruitless. 
Thou art His, for life, or death ; 

He alone can tell the future, 
He continues every breath. 

So my heart, cast off thy burden, 

God the Father loves thee, too : 
He delights in trustful children. 

Like a babe would He have you. 

<^ 

Mankind are always happier for having been happy : so 
that if you make them happy now you make them happy 
twenty years hence by the memory of it. Sydney Smith. 
20 



HEAVEN. 

In misty distance, far withdrawn 

Rises the everlasting morn : 

x\nd all the hopes of yesterdays 
Unite in its resplendent rays. 

Hopes unfulfilled, and laid away 

To wait the resurrection-day : 
Faiths in the human and divine 
Offered at the soul's true shrine. 

Aye, more than that, — the golden mists 
That all the fairy summits kiss 
Rise from the fires of sacrifice, 
Love's measure, and its price. 

Hasten, O Heart, toward that morn ! 
Behold 1 the blessed Star of Morn 

Glimmers to guide thy willing feet 

Into the golden street. 



-;^ 



The kingdom of heaven is not come even when God's 
will is our law ; it is come when God's will is our will. 
While God's will is our law, we are but a kind of noble 
slaves ; when His will is our will, we are free children. 

MacDonald. 

21 



HYMN. 

Hail ! Thou ever-blessed Saviour, 
Prince of Heaven, King of men ! 

Let the praise of men salute thee 

On the throne where thou dost reign. 

All the souls of men, enlightened 

By the splendor of thy truth 
From the grovelling of sinners 

Stand ennobled by thy worth. 

Smite the golden chords, ye Angels ! 

Answer them, Archangels high ! 
Till the farthest planet glories, — 

In the Lord who came to die. 

Hush ! O human lips, and listen 
To the never-ending strain, — 
" Worthy of the highest glory. 

Worthy is the Lamb once slain." 

All religion is in the change from He to Thou. — Only 
with the Thou we know God. Thomas Erskine 

<^ 

The Spirit of God lies all about the spirit of man like 
a mighty sea ready to rush in at the smallest chink in the 
walls that hold Him out from his own; walls, which even 
the tone of a violin afloat on the wind of that spirit is 
sometimes enough to rend from battlement to base, as the 
blast of ram's horns rent the walls of Jericho. 

George J\Iac Donald. 

22 



P CONGRESS 

01.6 1* 



